


Just Like Junior

by Anonymous



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types, Mortal Kombat 11 - Fandom
Genre: All The Other Characters Briefly Mentioned, Equal Parts Shovel Talk Equal Parts Sarcasm, Erron Is Also Thirsty, Erron Misses Jin, Erronjin, Flirting, Lao Is Done With Everything, M/M, Mild Family Fluff, Romance, Shovel Talk, Timequakes Really Messed Everything Up, don't we all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 02:09:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21402436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Before Kitana leads her combined army to rescue Kotal Kahn from a grisly fate at the Koliseum, a certain gunslinger has an interesting and unforgettable discussion with a hat-wearing monk, who strangely enough looks and sounds awfully like a smartass archer that he knows very well ...
Relationships: Erron Black/Kung Jin, Kung Lao & Erron Black
Comments: 10
Kudos: 58
Collections: Anonymous





	Just Like Junior

**Author's Note:**

> I thought that it would have been cool to have seen Erron and Kung Lao interacting in the story mode, maybe talking about hats or even about Kung Jin, and that's when this story idea was born! Enjoy. Xx

“May I ask what you are staring at?”

It was more of a demand than a request, if Kung Lao had to be completely honest with himself. The sharpness of his tone gave his words a cutting, interrogative edge – enough to make anyone who was in hearing range wince, as if they were being threatened at knifepoint. Or hat-point, to be specific.

As if Lao cared. Not that he could afford to care about anything else other than what the next half hour could bring, when Princess Kitana’s combined army was about to march from Queen Sheeva’s stronghold to the grounds of the Koliseum.

Not when the likelihood of death seemed more real than ever before, bringing with it unsettling images of Shao Kahn’s massive hands snapping his neck, as was his fate in this bizarre timeline.

And _especially_ not when the man at whom he had directed his request – no, it was _definitely_ a demand – had been staring solidly at him for the last five minutes or so.

From under the rim of a weather-beaten hat, a pair of eyes tilted upwards in an indolent fashion to lock with his. They were hazel-blue in colour, with faint crows’ feet marking the edges. A muted glint in appeared in them.

“Was I starin’? Didn’t mean to,” their owner drawled, almost a dry whisper.

“And _I _don’t mean to be sceptical, but that’s not stopping me, now is it?” Lao retorted, scowling.

What resembled a grin appeared beneath the man’s hawkish nose. Aside from the fine lines around his eyes, no other visible signs of ageing marred his rugged face. Only his clothing seemed indicative of a time long since passed – the man reminded the Shaolin monk of the Old Western films that he and Liu Kang would watch at the cinema on the nights when they could venture out of the Wu Shi Academy and into the city. Outlaws, bandits and sheriffs still existed in modern times, albeit in various guises: gangsters, policemen and corrupt politicians. Perhaps all different, maybe all one in the same.

But this man – Erron Black, that was his name, Lao remembered – seemed content enough to walk the fine line between both worlds. Literally and morally.

“I ain’t lookin’ to cause any trouble, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at,” Erron murmured. He patted his gloved hand against the top of his gun in his right holster. “You won’t be lookin’ up the barrel of this anytime soon.”

“Compared to the staring, _that _would have been more preferable.”

Much to Lao’s surprise, Erron let out a bark of laughter. The muted glint took on a stronger shine.

“Just like Junior, alright,” he said. “Had to see it _and _hear it to believe it.”

Lao raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

Erron tilted his head to the side. “You _are _Kung Lao, right?”

“I’m clearly not Liu Kang, so who else could I be?”

The gunslinger clucked his tongue at the sarcasm. “Yeah, you’re Kung Lao. You look ‘n sound a lot like Junior, though.”

The monk growled. “As if I know or care who this ‘Junior’ person is. It’s already bad enough that people compare me to Liu Kang.”

Here, Erron’s eyes narrowed. The corners of his mouth pulled downwards.

“You _should _care,” he replied in a low tone. “He’s your kin. Jin’s his real name.”

Lao’s frustration evaporated, as did the hardness in his face.

“Jin?” he repeated. “My nephew? My brother’s infant son?”

Erron answered, “The Junior – er, Jin that _I _know ain’t no infant.”

“He wouldn’t be – not in this timeline, at least,” Lao said, his voice soft. “In _my _timeline, he’s no more than three-years-old. Just a little boy, the last time I saw him, before I went to Outworld to fight at the tournament.”

It was his turn to stare at Erron. In a louder voice, he said, “Commander Cassandra Cage tells me that Jin is in Earthrealm, helping to mobilise the Shaolin monks of the White Lotus Society.”

If Lao was not mistaken, relief seemed to bloom across Erron’s face.

“So that’s where Junior is,” he drawled, as if he were speaking to himself. “Haven’t seen him for a long while. Thought he might have went and got himself killed when this timequake crap went down.”

Lao’s stare grew stronger. He placed his hands on his hips.

“I have not yet met this timeline’s version of my nephew,” he said, “but _you _seem to know him well, Black, despite the unusual moniker.”

Erron shrugged his shoulders. “Just a nickname that got stuck. Couldn’t remember his name the first time ‘round. He chewed me out about it initially, but he’s used to it now.”

“When did you first meet him?”

“Durin’ Mileena’s rebellion. Him and those three other emissaries worked alongside the Kahn – Kotal Kahn, that is – to squash it. It wasn’t what you would call a, uh, great first meetin’, but if I had to be nice, then I gotta admit that your nephew was the most persuasive one of the bunch. When the punk put his damn mind to it, of course.”

Lao’s brown eyes ran up and down Erron’s body. Slowly, he asked, “And you think that we’re a lot alike?”

“From the head down to the ground, and with a tongue that’s got space to be lined with both shit and silver.”

The monk took a step forward, more or less matching Erron in height, hat and all. He tilted his head in such a way that he was looking up at the cowboy from under his lashes.

“What did you call him again?”

“Junior.”

One word, said in such a drawn-out way, yet it told Kung Lao everything he needed to know.

Well, almost everything.

He raised his chin, the corners of his lips lifting upwards.

“And what, pray-tell, does he call you?” he half-asked, half-whispered.

Erron took a step forward as well, the rims of their hats almost touching. His mouth was twisted into a boyish grin, while those hazel-blue eyes were locked onto the monk’s again, the shine bright.

“Called me anything, anytime,” he replied. “Perhaps I can extend that same gesture to you? No harm done, you bein’ the closest thing to him right now and all.”

Lao’s own smile deepened.

“Allow me to extend my _own _gesture …”

Before Erron Black knew it, he suddenly found himself landing ass-first on the ground, his elbows and back following suit, and his hat flying to God knows where. The impact was enough to knock the wind out of him for a long and painful moment.

Struggling to get his bearings, the gunslinger lifted his dazed head with a groan just as Lao swung his left leg from under him and picked himself up from the ground. Adjusting his razor-rimmed hat, he looked down at Erron with a stern expression.

“Next time I’ll be aiming for your head with my _hat_,” he growled. “If you ever hurt my nephew, break his heart, or try to pull a stunt like this again behind his back, I’ll in no certain terms kill you on the spot. Have I made myself clear, Black?”

Erron merely groaned again.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. Now get up, for Kitana will need all the help she can get when we go up against Shao Kahn’s forces. It’s about the only action you will see from _me_.”

Turning on his heels, Lao walked off in the direction of Sheeva’s throne-room.

Carefully propping himself onto his sore elbows, Erron Black watched the Shaolin monk, who without stopping or looking over his shoulder yelled, “And stop staring at me!”

The gunslinger could not help but chuckle despite his aches.

“Yup, just like Junior,” he muttered.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't expect it to turn into a ErronLao story but there you go! Does this mean that they are a thing now? Who knows? C:


End file.
